The Tysons | Page 4

term suggested anything
from a court-martial to some vague impropriety.
"The Major? Major who?" she inquired, deftly recovering her mental
balance. "Where is he?"
"Somewhere about the premises, I fancy," said Mr. Wilcox, dryly.
When all argument failed he had still a chastened delight in mystifying
the poor lady.
Mrs. Wilcox looked out of the window. "Oh, I see; you mean Captain
Stanistreet." She smiled; for where Captain Stanistreet was Mr. Nevill
Tyson was not very far away. Moreover, she was glad that she had on
her nice ultramarine tea-gown with the green _moirê_ front. (They
were wearing those colors in town that season.)
At Thorneytoft a few hours later Stanistreet's tongue was running on as
usual, when Tyson pulled him up with a jerk. "Hold hard. Do you know
you're talking about the future Mrs. Nevill Tyson?"
Stanistreet tried to keep calm, for he was poised on his waist across the
edge of the billiard-table. As it was, he lost his balance at the critical
moment, and it ruined his stroke. He looked at the cloth, then at his cue,
with the puzzled air which people generally affect in these
circumstances.
"Great Scott!" said he, "how did I manage that?"
The exclamation may or may not have referred to the stroke.
Tyson looked at his friend with a smile which suggested that he
expected adverse criticism, and was prepared to deal temperately with

it.
"Why not?" said he.
Stanistreet, however, said nothing. He was absorbed in chalking the
end of his cue. His silence gave Tyson no chance; it left too much to
the imagination.
"Have you any objection?"
"Well, isn't the lady a little young for a fine old country gentleman like
yourself?"
Tyson's small blue eyes twinkled, for he prided himself on being able
to take a joke at his own expense. Still it was not exactly kind of
Stanistreet to remind him of his mushroom growth.
"Come," said Stanistreet, "you are a gentleman, you know. At any rate,
you're about the only fellow in these parts who can stand a frock-coat
and topper--that's the test. I saw Morley, your big man, going into
church yesterday, and he looked as if he'd just sneaked out of the City
on a 'bus. But you always knew how to dress yourself. The instinct is
hereditary."
Louis had just made a brilliant series of cannons, and was marking fifty
to his score. If he had not been so absorbed in his game, he would have
seen that Tyson was angry; and Tyson when he was angry was not at
all nice to see.
He made himself very stiff as he answered, "Whether I'm a gentleman
or not I can't say. It's an abstruse question. But I've got the girl on my
side, which is a point in my favor; I have the weighty support of my
mamma-in-law elect; and--the prejudices of papa I shall subdue by
degrees."
"By degrees? What degrees?" Again the question was unkind. It
referred to a phase of Tyson's university career which he least liked to
look back upon.

"And how about Mrs. Hathaway?"
"Damn Mrs. Hathaway," said Tyson.
"Poor lady, isn't she sufficiently damned already?"
The twinkle came back into Tyson's eyes, but there was gloom in the
rest of his face. The twinkle was lost upon Stanistreet. He knew too
much; and the awkward thing was that Tyson never could tell exactly
how much he knew. So he wisely dropped the subject.
Stanistreet certainly knew a great deal; but he was the last man in the
world to make a pedantic display of his knowledge; and Mr. Wilcox's
prejudices remained the only obstacle to Tyson's marriage. It was one
iron will against another, and the battle was long. Mr. Wilcox had the
advantage of position. He simply retreated into his library as into a
fortified camp, intrenching himself behind a barricade of books, and
refusing to skirmish with the enemy in the open. And to every assault
made by his family he replied with a violent fit of coughing. A
well-authenticated lung-disease is a formidable weapon in domestic
warfare.
At last he yielded. Not to time, nor yet to Tyson, nor yet to his wife's
logic, but to the importunities of his lung-disease. Other causes may
have contributed; he was a man of obstinate affections, and he had
loved his daughter.
It was considered right that the faults of the dead (his unreasonable
obstinacy, for instance) should be forgiven and forgotten. Death
seemed to have made Mrs. Wilcox suddenly familiar with her
incomprehensible husband. She was convinced that whatever he had
thought of it on earth, in heaven, purged from all mortal weakness, Mr.
Wilcox was taking a very different view of Molly's engagement.
He died in March, and Tyson married Molly in the following May.